


Following Roads and Rivers

by AmbroseVox



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Adventuring, AnVil, Arena, Cyrodiil, Drama, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forging, Friendship, Gen, Goblins, Homeland - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Imperial City, Journey, Knight, Knights - Freeform, Leyawiin, Loss, Love, Mercenaries, Questing, Romance, Skooma Wars, Skyrim - Freeform, Smithing, Smithing Contests, Tamriel, Tragedy, Travel, Treasure Hunting, World Travel, bandits, forge - Freeform, smith - Freeform, thieves, thugs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbroseVox/pseuds/AmbroseVox
Summary: Sigtrygg Ve is an impoverished, Nordic youth dwelling in the city of Leyawiin. Day after day, he toils in the family forge and what little free time he has is spent with his few friends and by the waterside. At the Leyawiin docks, all he can do is watch ship after ship journey up and down the Niben River to faraway places he can only dream of. His inspiration, he feels, is wasted within the city's walls. But when the family's fortunes grow bare, an apprencticeship at an Anvil forge affords him the opportunity to strike out. Following Cyrodiil's rivers and winding roads, meeting peculiar faces, and finding trouble and adventure, Sigtrygg will make his dreams become a reality.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Bells rang along the Leyawiin docks as another merchant ship slid from Topal Bay up the Niben River. Stevedores waited patiently as the ship’s sails furled and it steered towards the docks. Figures clambered up the masts and crawling among the rigging. Large oars appeared from both sides of the vessel, dipped into the water, and propelled it carefully towards the docks. It loomed larger and larger. Deep voices began hailing one another. Oars were shipped, lines thrown, and the ship was towed alongside the docks. With a rattle of its chain, the anchor slid into the crystal blue water of the Niben. Gangways were erected and lines of Argonians, Khajiits, and Imperials trooped upwards. Crates, barrels, huge bags, and chests were passed between able arms and placed on the docks. Clerks went around with ledgers, crossing off items on the list, making notes of the deposited cargo, and configuring tariffs. 

Another gangway allowed passengers to disembark but only a few did. Redguard refugees lined the rail, waiting for the ship to unload its cargo before pushing further up the Niben River to the Imperial City. Anxious faces gazed down at the sightseers who liked to come and watch ships arrive. More than a few kind souls trundled onto the docks and threw fresh produce, bread, cheese, and other foodstuffs up to the refugees. Although thankful, the refugees had nothing to offer in return. 

Much of the cargo, once registered, was wheeled away in carts. Most were loaded into dockside warehouses although many were already bulging with supplies. Others were taken up into Leyawiin itself. Passing the shoddy houses of the dock workers and other menials who eked out a living there, these carts were directed either to Castle Leyawiin. Bags of gemstones and Septims jingled in bags inside secured lockboxes. Other crates marked with stamps reading, ‘fragile,’ rattled with silver dining ware. Another wagon, which was drawn by two Argonians instead of a horse, waddled deeper into the city until they reached a shop at the corner of the eastern mouth to the square.

It was a small, red-walled smithy and might have been considered quaint by some. The front door faced the square but the right side, facing the entrance to the pavilion, was more open. Beside it was a tall, glass window and both panes were thrown open. A wooden roof went from corner to corner and covered a larger set of double-doors. Both were wide open, as was the cover for a long counter-window beside it. On the wall facing the square, there was one more window identical to the one leading into the house position, although it was far dirtier. Within this addition were the forge and bellows; smoke wafted out of a brick and mortar chimney that rose from the roof of the addition. A Nord stoked the coals, causing the flames to roar and a cloud of sparks to rise. Then he took a thin, long piece of metal from the rim of the forge, placed it on the anvil, and began hammering ferociously. The clanging carried far into the square and down many side streets. Nobody who strolled down the cobblestone roads seemed to be bothered by it or take notice of it. 

Besides the smith banging away at his metal, the deep shouting from the docks, and the rattle of wagon wheels, there was the laughter echoing down the streets. In one of the city’s many ponds, children splashed and dunked one another. The day was hot, not frightfully so, but enough to make them dive into the water to cool off. Groups of friends held mock wrestling matches in the water, took big gulps then sprayed it at one another, and held competitions to see who could swim to the bottom and rise the fastest. Others upped the ante, seeing who could hold their breath the longest. The Argonian children weren’t interested, so a Nord boy, a pair of Imperial siblings, and a Khajiit girl, took a deep breath and ducked under the water. First, the girls came up, then the Khajiit.

Ten seconds later, the Nord emerged with a loud gasp. Throwing his thick mop of auburn hair back and wiping the water from his face, he smiled wide and laughed with his friends.

“Sigtrygg wins!” he declared. 

“You only won because you’re a blowhard; you’ve got too much air!” declared M’krinna, a Cathay Khajiit girl. But her green eyes flashed amicably and she flashed a big, toothy smile before she ran off to join another group of children. Both the Imperials, Luca, a ten year old boy, and his sister, Ara, his twelve year old sister, laughed. 

“You could be an Argonian!” Luca declared.

“Why don’t you go back down and find out if you are?” Ara said smugly, before she and Luca went off to meet some other friends who were just joining in. Sigtrygg was left on his own but he didn’t mind. He trudged over to a shallower spot, although he was already quite tall for a lad of thirteen, so he was still a little deeper than the other children. Picking out some of the grass and bits of reed that got caught in his tangled hair, he continued wading until he got to bank. Tugging up the legs of his threadbare trousers, he went to sit down so he would still be in the water a little.

Sigtrygg sighed as he did. He was glad to be out of the family’s forge, where the heat became unbearable on a warm day. Cool air and colder waters were far more preferable, although Leyawiin was a swampy clime and remained muggy and hot throughout the year. Anyone who liked the cold could only hope for the rains to come down from the north, which usually occurred during the last three months of the year. Besides that, sea winds coming up from the south off Topal Bay could drive away the humidity. 

There was no wind that day and Leyawiin’s air was particularly stale. Passing adults were dabbing their sweating brows with handkerchiefs or patted down their necks with damp cloths. Nords like Sigtrygg were few in number so far south and did not fare very well from the humidity. But Khajiit whose hides tended to grow thicker and fuller suffered even worse. Turning around from the pond, Sigtrygg sat back and watched the adults go by. Everyone seemed unconcerned with the children playing in the pond, too focused on their tasks or trying to find some other place to avoid the heat. 

He liked watching folks mill around town. During the day, the gates generally stayed open and allowed a steady trickle of travelers, traders, mercenaries, Legion patrols, and the more rare Synod research team. Occasionally, merchant caravans arrived in Leyawiin and it was always exciting for both children and adults. They came bearing materials, luxury items, simple goods, odds and ends, and other articles not readily available in Leyawiin. Even goods from Bravil were considered interesting to those who did not travel that much or not at all. Sometimes, he went to the docks and watched ships go up and down the rivers. Sometimes there were Legion ships back from patrol, lumbering cargo ships, ornate merchant vessels, and the occasional mercenary longship. He’d watch them go until they were far out of sight, becoming dots further up the Niben or disappearing against the horizon on Topal Bay.

It had been nearly two years since Sigtrygg had left Leyawiin and it was only a short trip and not at all exciting. He hoped he would have the opportunity to leave the city’s walls again soon. Just as he began to ruminate just how and when he and his family could go out beyond the walls, he heard a commotion behind him. 

There was laughter on the other side of the pond, although it was mocking, not fun-loving. Some older Imperial boys, who originally kept themselves distant from the younger kids, had invaded their space. Three of them were around M’krinna, whose golden fur was far more matted down than before. She was failing up and trying to get away from them, but they pulled on her tail, tugged her back, and then dunked her under the water with heavy hands. Each time they let her back up, they laughed at her cruely. M’krinna was flopping as she attempted to escape but they kept overpowering her. Soon, her agitated squeals and shrieks changed to sobs. Her tears were soon lost in the streams of water running down her face. 

Sigtrygg watched for a few moments and began to shake. His heart began to pound. He wanted to help her. M’krinna was his friend but even if she wasn’t, he would have wanted to step in. But he was scared. While he might have been tall and already a bit strong from working in the family forge, the Imperial boys were older and rougher. And there were three of them. Looking away, he hugged his knees to his chest. Somebody else would do something. Yes, there were plenty of kind souls who would intervene. But none of the children did anything, merely regarding the event in stupefaction. Others actually got out of the pond, collected their clothes, and left. Adults passed by and didn’t do a thing. 

It felt like he sat there for hours, rocking back and forth. M’krinna let out a pitiful cry for help which made Sigtrygg look back. He didn’t want to get hurt himself or even take his friend’s place if he got the boys’ attention. But the longer he sat and regarded the terrible spectacle, the more angry he got. Not just at those boys but at himself. This fear seemed so wrong and inappropriate. All his life, his parents regaled him with tales of Nordic bravery in the face of adversity. 

Before his mind was set, his heart forced him up. Sigtrygg charged across the pond and shoved one of the Imperial boys. Unprepared, the boy fell into another and they both staggered back. Grabbing M’krinna, Sigtrygg pulled her away. But the third boy was coming towards him so he shoved her away and spun around to defend himself. Just as he did, a fist struck him square in the eye. Falling over, he found himself underwater but only briefly. Somebody grabbed a clump of his hair and yanked him up. The Imperial boy got in his face and waved his fist in front of him.

“Filthy Nord!” he screamed. “You’re nothing short of a beggar! Go back to that wasteland you call home and stay there! Cyrodiil belongs to Imperials, not to dullards like you or mangy, fleabitten cats like her!”

Sigtrygg tried to free himself but another fist on his cheek made him stop. “You think you’re something special!? Do you know who I am!?” The boy wound his arm back for another strike. Suddenly, an armored hand appeared and snatched the boy’s wrist. A large guard in chainmail, wearing a white surcoat, loomed behind him. 

“I know you,” said the guard in a menacing tone. “And I know your father, too, and the captain won’t like what I have to tell him.” 

Forcibly, the guard wrenched the boy back and shoved him on the embankment of the pond. The other two Imperials slinked after him. Maintaining a towering, imposing stance, the guard regarded the children sternly. “All of you, get out of here! Back to your homes! How often must I tell you this pond is not for swimming!”

Groaning and mumbling in complaint, the remaining children nonetheless complied. Sloshing out of the water, they collected their clothes on the bank of the pond and trudged off in different directions. Sigtrygg, rubbing his cheek, began to turn. “You there, Nord.” He turned back to find the guard standing over him. After a few moments, the Imperial smiled. “Well done, lad.” 

“Am I going to be in trouble for fighting, too?”

“Nonsense. I saw the whole affair. Go home. Take a damp, cool rag to that eye if you can.” 

Sigtrygg nodded but found he couldn’t move. He was impressed by the stark white surcoat that ran all the way down to his knees. On the front was Leyawiin’s sigil, a white stallion rimmed with gold rearing to the right, its front legs high and kicking. Underneath he wore steel chainmail and wore piecemeal shoulder guards. These were polished very finely and reflected the bright sun. A chainmail skirt protected his legs as well as steel guards strapped to his thighs and shins. Leather pouches lined the belt he wore, as well as the scabbard for a dagger. On his left side, he wore a sword and scabbard. He carried a pack and shield on his back. 

He was tall, broad in the chest, and robust of health. Bearing a wide face, he had a very large smile that made his cheeks rise. Thick, blonde locks, nearly curly at the ends, came down his shoulders. From his weathered, tanned face and the many nicks on his brow, lips, nose, and cheeks, one could tell he was a seasoned warrior. It was difficult not to be impressed by him. Sigtrygg was well aware of how impolite it was to gawk at another person but this guard seemed different the rest he’d seen. There was an air of grandeur and nobility around him, a quiet professionalism imbued with glory. He was from a different cut, a molding and making no other guard had ever experienced nor ever would. In his eyes was the country beyond Leyawiin’s walls and they sparkled with a livelihood unknown to young Sigtrygg. He was not mystified, he was immediately drawn to that expression and longed to not only know what this man had seen and done, but go and do it himself.

Somehow, this guard understood that. Chuckling pleasantly, he clamped a hand down on Sigtrygg’s shoulder. “It is a good thing to help those who cannot help themselves. Such acts should be rewarded.” He opened the leather box pouch on his right side and produced a silver Septim. Eyes wide, Sigtrygg stared at it. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his palm. Something deep within told him he should not accept it. It was not a matter of whether he deserved it or not, but rather why he acted. Coin was far removed from his mind during the whole affair. He lowered his gaze. 

But the man reached down, opened Sigtrygg’s hand, and placed the silver into it. “Such a reward is material,” he said, then placed his hand over his heart. “But what your heart feels after the act, now there is the true prize. This coin is but a formality.”

He said nothing more as he turned and walked out of the pond. At that moment, Sigtrygg realized he just wasn’t a member of the city guard. From the heraldry on the shield mounted on his back, he found he was a knight of the White Stallion, the lodge founded in the Third Era. It was steeped in tradition, honor, and glory and everyone in the city respected them as paragons. Awed, Sigtrygg watched him march down the street, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword, still in its scabbard, and the gilded shield glinting in the sunlight. 

Tucking the coin into his pocket, he went back to collect his clothes. There he found M’Krinna, still sniffling as tears continued to disappear into her damp cheeks. She handed Sigtrygg his shirt and then his two buckled shoes. Unwilling to get her plain brown skirt and blouse wet by putting them on over her white underdress, she merely wrapped the deep green shawl around her shoulders. Carrying her own soft shoes in her other hand, she began walking home. Sigtrygg joined her. 

He didn’t know what to say. The lad wasn’t quite sure if there was anything that could make her feel better. On top of the abuse, she was humiliated in front of their friends and many other children they saw regularly. M’Krinna was still sniffing and letting out sad, exasperated breaths as they trundled down the city streets, their bare, wet feet padding on the cobblestone. She carried her shoes in her right hand and tucked her clothes underneath the same arm. So Sigtrygg draped his shirt over his shoulder, switched his shoes to his other hand, and gently wrapped his fingers around her paw. His friend acknowledged the gesture by squeezing his pale hand very tightly. 

They were silent until they got to the front door of M’krinna’s home, a wooden shack outside the city square on the road to the docks. Their hands slipped from each other and their gazes met. 

“Thank you, Sigtrygg,” she said in a quiet voice. Unsure, and feeling somewhat bashful at her gentle tone, all the Nord did was shrug a little bit. The pain around his eye and spreading across his cheek proved quite distracting as well. “Bye.”

“Bye, Krinny.”

M’krinna walked over to the door and raised her hand to the knob. But then she dropped her clothing and shoes and ran back to Sigtrygg. She threw her arms around his neck and embraced him very tightly. He held her back, if only to keep from tumbling backwards. Nothing more was said and after she let go, she hurriedly picked up her belongings and disappeared inside. Running his fingers through his disheveled hair, Sigtrygg went back to his home. Instead of going through the front door, he went through the open double-doors of the forge. Inside, he found his father, Askel, tempering another blade. He wore only brown trousers, black boots, and a leather apron which covered his soot-covered, sweating upper body. He had dark brown hair which came down to his neck and stubble which grew thickly on his chin. His face was flat and his nose was a bit small, traits which Sigtrygg inherited from him. 

“Hi, da,” Sigtrygg greeted him. Askel briefly looked over his shoulder as he dipped the heated blade, white-hot, into the tub of water nearby. The water hissed and a cloud of steam billowed into the smith’s face. 

“Best put your shoes on boy, there by many a nail and shard of metal strewn about this floor,” he grunted before looking back. Then he abruptly looked back and blinked. “By the Divines, lad, what happened to your face?”

“Nothing,” Sigtrygg replied meekly as he slipped his shoes back on. Before he took more than two more steps into the smithy, his father knelt in front of him. 

“Nothing he says,” Askel muttered. “Have you been fighting?”

“Yes,” Sigtrygg admitted, but he didn’t say why. He didn’t feel like explaining and he thought it best not to mention what happened to M’krinna. His parents knew her family and he didn’t want them up in arms over it. They would take it to that boy’s father, who was captain of the watch, and then it would just be turned back on the two children after things settled down. 

“You shouldn’t do that. Fighting does no good. The Divines gave you a voice and you ought to use it from time to time. Or don’t they teach you how to speak well in that chapel?”

“Yes, da.” 

After a brief inspection, Askel went over to one of the chests they used for storage in the forge. It was much darker in here than outside; even with the doors, counter, and window open, the sunlight did seem to penetrate the natural darkness. Not even the deep, orange flames of the forge, stirred up by the bellows, seemed to make a difference. The square-shaped forge was tucked into the right side of the room with two anvils, one larger and one smaller, in the center. By each was a wooden tub of water. A cut beside the wall and the forge contained a few tall cabinets where they kept their tools. Chests on the left side contained their supplies. Next to these chests was a workbench, long, flat, made of steel, and propped up by thick wooden legs. Across from it, near the window, was the grindstone. In the corner by the entrance to the house were various completed items on hold for customers. Mostly these were horseshoes, building materials from hinges to nails, repaired tools like pickaxes, and a few hunting daggers and shortswords. A lockbox on a counter contained their more ornate creations such as necklaces, rings, and cheap circlets. 

Opening one of the chests, Askel began to rummage through it. Sigtrygg waited patiently on a stool by the counter. On the shelves underneath the counter, there were more parcels waiting to be picked up by patrons. He looked over at the blade his father was forging, resting on a stone shelf built into the forge. “You are making swords today, da?”

“I am until your mother comes back,” Askel replied wearily. “She prays in the chapel once more, calling upon Zenithar instead of working.” This he said somewhat bitterly. Finally, he found a piece of cloth and then went over to one of the water tubs. Dipping the cloth into it, he squeezed out the excess and then gave it to Sigtrygg. “Place it upon your eye.”

“That is what the knight said to do, too.”

“Knight? What knight?” 

“A Knight of the White Stallion! He spoke to me after the fight. He stopped it.”

“Then it appears knights are good for something after all,” Askel muttered as he returned to his work. Sigtrygg deflated, feeling Askel’s dismissive tone seep into him. Instead, he pressed the cloth gently against his stinging wound. After a few minutes, he went to the window, wiped some of the soot off with his hand, and looked into the glass. It took a moment to find his reflection as the glass caught the sun’s glare. Taking away the cloth, he found the skin around his eye had turned black and the mark on his cheek turned into a brown-red color. It was very unsightly and he sighed sadly. 

Just as he began to go back to the stool, he heard feet outside the shop. A moment later, his mother emerged. She was tall, red-haired, and strong in her arms and chest like Askel. Just as she removed her shawl, she noticed Sigtrygg and was surprised. 

“I thought you were off playing still. Why have you come back so soon? And why is your face covered?”

Sigtrygg reluctantly lowered it. 

“Kaja, the boy was fighting,” Askel said sternly. 

“Now why would you go and do a thing like that? I hope you had a good reason for it.”

Sigtrygg merely shrugged. Kaja sighed and shook her head. “Well, it matters not now. Tend your face, dress, and then come work the counter. We have many pending orders and money to make.” 

Sighing, Sigtrygg donned his shirt and went to fetch his tools. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he felt the coin the knight gave him. Unwilling to take it, lest his parents wonder why, the lad just smiled a little bit, feeling rather contented, and set himself to the hard work ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! This story is being concurrently uploaded to both this site and Fanfiction.net. Set during the Fourth Era about a decade before the Skyrim Civil War/Dragon Crisis, it'll follow Sigtrygg and a growing band of characters as he attempts to rise in the world. This story is meant to be lore friendly but also draws on some of the lore friendly and immersive mods I've experienced playing online. I'll make little notes about them as they come up. Featured here via the silver Septim is the wonderful Coins of Tamriel mod by Force70 I used in the original and SSE version of Skyrim. Thanks for reading; if you end up liking this story, check out my other projects focused on Halo and Warhammer: 40,000. As for this one, I'll definitely update it biweekly but if I manage my work well, you can expect weekly updates. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Days working in the forge blended into one another. The working day began just as the sun rose, or sometimes just an hour before it did. A quick breakfast was scarfed down and heavy boots, gloves, and leather aprons were donned. Then, the forge fires were lit and the flames fanned by the bellows. Afterwards, the doors, windows, and counter were opened. Mostly, this was done for light and ventilation, but the counter was reserved for customers who were picking up their requested items and didn’t want to enter the smoky forge. All day, requests were completed. Wood fed the fires all day long, shipments of different metals and ore were collected and paid for. If an ore shipment came in, it was fed and refined in the bulbous smelter next to the forge in the right, street corner of the shop. Ingots were stacked within chests or on shelves. 

Askel, while having some skill in forging steel, was more adept at creating jewelry. Kaja was a master armorer and weaponsmith; her orders tended to have less volume but they were more lucrative. On the other hand, Askel’s rings, necklaces, chains, and circlets tended to be of simpler metals like copper rather than gold, although there were opportunities to work with silver. Thus, they did not yield the same income. Because Leyawiin was a populous city with a large deficit between the wealthy and poor, he had many orders for cheap accessories as these were all the latter could afford. The most frequent item he was asked to make were wedding rings for the lower class individuals who were getting married. They could not even afford silver rings and had to settle for copper or for gilded rings. 

Most of the nobility and the well to do imported their jewelry from other cities. Occasionally, a minor lady or lord asked for something special and supplied gemstones. In these endeavors, Askel excelled and put his wonderful craftsmanship to work. He carved weaving patterns into the interiors and exteriors of the rings, seated rubies and amethysts perfectly, and made sure the fitting was dead on. Nobody ever complained about what he made, whether they were high class or impoverished. 

Of course, there was the nature of working the counter. Within their own rights, Askel and Kaja were decent traders. They both knew how to haggle, knew when to tease some coin out of a customer, or when to go easy on someone, usually individuals they knew and did right by them. Preference had much to do with the selection, but what business didn’t have its favorite and frequent customers? If merchants who traveled long ways to deliver shipments of ingots and ore were upset, the duo were able to soothe them so they didn’t pay exorbitant fees. While they never had a sale, as they couldn’t afford to do that, they were able to work out certain deals with customers. Instead of eliciting coin from other tradesmen, they instead charged them for their service. Repaired tools for new glass in the windows, a batch of nails, hooks, pegs, and more to repair the shelves, and the like. Communicating with the public required kindness and patience, but also the skill to read people, have a head for numbers and words, and most important of all, complete knowledge of what one was talking about. 

These were lessons Askel and Kaja imparted on Sigtrygg. In the morning, he assisted his father and learned his jewelry trade. In the afternoon, he worked alongside his mother forging weapons; there were never orders for armor. In the evening, he made sales at the counter. This is where he found himself at the end of the day and he was rather uncomfortable. His trousers were still damp even after so many hours and he was tired from the hard work. He enjoyed smithing but day after day it became very dull. As well, he liked talking to the customers but they became few and far between during the evening. So, his face blackened with soot and his skin oily, he passed the time with a book.  _ An Explorer’s Guide to Skyrim _ possessed some surprisingly demeaning language towards his homeland but overall it filled his chest with wonder every time he read the book. This must have made it his eleventh or twelfth time. He began to think about the knight and if he ever went to Skyrim. If he ever had the opportunity to see and speak with him again, he’d ask. After he got his name first, of course.

“Hello, young man of Ve,” said a raspy voice. The Nord knew who it was. He looked with a smile at Has-Many-Horns, a green-scaled Argonian fellow whose name was derived from the peculiar addition of two extra horns on each jaw line. Whenever he smiled, he made a sort of hum a stranger might have found sinister. But he was a kindly sort and Sigtrygg always liked it when he came around. Has-Many-Horns was a carpenter and a frequent customer, constantly needing to buy materials; nails, fastenings, holders, hinges, and for his tools to be repaired. 

“Your nail-set and hammer, sir,” Sigtrygg said, reaching below the counter and producing both. “New metal for the set, finely honed, a brand new head for the hammer. A tad heavier, as requested.”

“Very good,  _ hmmm _ ,” he hummed, his tail wagging back and forth momentarily. “And what do I owe your fine establishment?”

“Two silvers, please. But, if you’re willing to part with five coppers, we’ll throw in a medium bag of nails. Ten coppers and you’ll get a large bag.”

“ _ Hmmmm _ ,” Has-Many-Horns hummed as he stroked his chin. “Fair bargains.”

“A man such as yourself is always in need of work. Having a surplus of materials is always a safe move.” Sigtrygg added a coy shrug. “After all, it is better to have  _ more  _ than  _ not enough _ .”

“Indeed, indeed, land-strider.  _ Hmmm _ .” Has-Many-Horns smiled wide, exposing his many, thin, sharp teeth. He dug into his coin purse and produced two silver and five copper pieces. 

“One bag of medium nails to go with your tools. I’ll fetch them right away.”

“You always provide such,  _ hmmm _ , good service. You have good parents.” Sigtrygg jogged to the back, swiped one of the bags off the shelf, weighed it just to be safe, and then brought it over. He swept the coins into his palm, twisted the key to the lock box, and placed the silver pieces into their slot, and then coppers into their section. “My parents were merchants. Ssssoft ones.” He leaned on the counter and ducked his head in a little as comfortably as if he was about to order a drink from a barkeep. “Give me a hammer, said I. I wished to be sssstrong.”

“Only a fool would deny that, good sir,” Sigtrygg said earnestly. Has-Many-Horns was big for an Argonian and his scaled arms were sinewy with muscle. Seeing as foot traffic was slow, the young Nord did not want to send him off too soon. That would be rude and would leave a bad taste in a patron’s mouth. Most people wanted to feel welcome at the places they frequently expended coin. 

“It appearssss to me you too wish to be strong,” Has-Many-Horns said and gestured towards Sigtrygg’s smarting bruises. “Who won?”

Quickly glancing over his shoulder, Sigtrygg then leaned over and grinned. 

“It might be fair to say no one did, but seeing as I accomplished my goal, it’s also fair to say that I won.”

Has-Many-Horns laughed, tapping the wooden countertop as he did. Stepping back, he waved at Sigtrygg fondly. 

“I hope it was worth it,” he remarked. “Thank you and goodnight, young man of Ve.”

“And you too, kind sir,” Sigtrygg said, bowing his head. After the Argonian left, Kaja came over, leaned out to watch him go, and then ducked back in. 

“You must have said something very funny.”

“Oh, only something an Argonian would.”

“I hope it was appropriate,” Kaja said, smiling. “Good work. That is how a patron should always leave this shop. Happy.”

“Satisfied,” Askel replied as he banged a ring down the fitting rod. “If they want happiness, let them buy new duds at the tailor, or a carpet from the weaver, or fresh produce from the stalls. Here, they spend coin on quality goods and good service, not happiness.”

“What a miser you have become in your age, husband,” Kaja replied sarcastically before trooping back over to her anvil. “Sig, I doubt we’ll have another patron for the night. Begin closing up, if you’d please.”

“Yes, ma.”

Closing up always seemed a lot faster than opening up. Sigtrygg dropped the small roof for the counter and locked. He went to the double doors, dragged them back, and locked them. The windows were closed next. Afterwards, it was a matter of cleaning up. Tools were placed back in the cabinets and bags. Excess materials were placed back in their appropriate spots. Lock boxes and chests were secured. Once everything important or handy was put away, it was time to clean up. This was the most extensive aspect of closing time although simple in nature. All Sigtrygg had to do was sweep up the soot covering the stone floor into a pan and dump it in a barrel. If there were any bits of metal or splinters on the floor, these were picked out beforehand and placed in a separate, metal bin beside the soot collector. Anything that could be recycled, even if it was a bent nail, was to be saved. At the end of the week, the barrel was dumped in a waste pit which was near the river.

When Sigtrygg finished, he doused the forge fires. This didn’t extinguish them completely, but dampened them enough to die out on their own over the course of the next hour. By this time, Askel and Kaja had finished their tasks and put away their remaining tools. Both doffed their aprons on hooks by the door, splashed their faces from the troughs, and then disappeared into the house. Sigtrygg went around, ensured everything that needed to be locked was secure, then followed his parents. Blowing out the few candles they lit, he followed his parents through the door, shut it, and locked it. Such was a day in the Ve family forge. 

***

Dinner that night was meager. A quarter of a potato, a few cooked vegetables, and two thin cuts of pork. For dessert was half an apple. Sigtrygg sat at the small, square table in the center of the house-portion of the building they rented. While Kaja filled their pewter cups with water, he sighed as he took in the same sights he had for the past five years. Bare walls with tears in the olive wallpaper. A dusty mantle over the fireplace with no heirlooms or trinkets. A simple cooking stove of black iron with rust on the edges. Three doors on the far wall; one to his parents bedroom, one to his own, and one to the privy. Here and there were a few barrels filled with salt to preserve meat and some shelves to hold their other food. Sigtrygg never felt poor until he had to sit in his own home. 

Kaja set the cups down. Askel, now clad in a shirt and clean trousers, picked up his fork and knife. But a stern look from his wife made him pause. Grunting, he clasped his hands together and shut his eyes. Sigtrygg did the same. 

“Mara, we ask of you to keep our family together, to see that we always keep our bonds of affection, and keep this home within your light. Of Zenithar, we honor you with our good works, our hard work. We shall not ask for gifts, for we are not of that make. Wealth, with your graciousness, shall be earned by every hammer strike. Every coin shall be repaid with an hour’s labor. Zenithar, we keep you. Please, keep us.”

Sigtrygg opened his eyes and began eating. He always ate slowly in the hopes that if he staggered out his meal, he would not be hungry still at the end. The dinner was silent, as it often was. After taking a conservative bite from his pork, he glanced up. His father was staring at him. 

“So what actually happened?” he grunted.

“Just a scuffle between me and some of the boys,” Sigtrygg said, prodding the remaining pork with his fork. 

“Well, I didn’t raise you to be a brawler.”

“He’s a Nord, fighting is in his blood, as it is yours, and mine,” Kaja said smartly. “But that doesn’t mean you should simply hurt people. You need a very good reason to bring you fist down upon someone.”

“No, no,  _ no _ .” Askel brought his hand down on the table. “It doesn’t matter if he had a good reason or not. The last thing we need is to get into trouble with the guards and pay fines because our son is beating on other children.”

“Askel, dear, calm down.”

“I shan’t be calm. How can you expect me to be calm? I spent the entire morning sweating in there doing  _ your  _ work while you prayed in comfort. If you were here, I wouldn’t be behind on my orders. Shor’s Bones, I’m not a weaponsmith.”

“I didn’t ask you to take up my work,” Kaja said sharply, setting his pewterware down heavily. Sigtrygg continued to poke the pork with his knife. He found that he was no longer hungry, although he began to wish he still was. 

Askel, who had taken up his fork and knife again, set them back down and glared at Kaja. Both of them maintained a heated gaze for what seemed like several minutes. Eventually, Askel leaned over and pointed in her face. 

“Do you happen to recall what trying to fight got us? We had a home once, friends, prospects. And now what do we have? A rotten forge, a crummy house that isn’t even ours, hardly any coin in our pockets, and a city that smells like shit who hates anybody who ain’t an Imperial.” He turned sharply at the table and now pointed at Sigtrygg. “No. More. Fighting. Understand me, boy?”

“Do  _ not  _ speak as if you are making a threat to our son!” Kaja yelled, slamming her fist on the table so hard all the utensils jumped and her cup fell over. The water spilled and dribbled over the edge on the floor. Sigtrygg was fast enough to pick up his plate and cup before they were threatened by his mother’s rage. 

For a few tense minutes, the glaring contest resumed. All that could be heard was the water dripping onto the floorboards.  _ Thud. Thud. Thud. _ Then, at the same, time, both Askel and Kaja exhaled, returned to their plates, and continued eating as if nothing happened. For a time, Sigtrygg regarded them blankly. Inside, he was torn and wanted them to speak about it. He wanted to yell too, although he was not quite sure why. Maybe it was because he was tired of his parents’ bickering over the same things or the fact their arguing got them nowhere. Or perhaps it was because he was sick of them ignoring their own anger. Whatever it did to themselves, it felt like poison to him. Sick to his gut, he stared warily at the few vegetables and slices of pork as if they were dung. 

But he managed to take a breath and clean his plate. By now, he knew that if he did not finish his meal he would stir in the middle of the night hungrier than usual. His parents were done too and they all deposited their dishes in the wash basin where Sigtrygg did the majority of the cleaning. Just as Kaja began to dice up the apples for their dessert, someone rapped on the door. Briefly, Askel and Kaja exchanged a fearful glance. Sigtrygg was not sure why they always grew so tense when someone came at night. It seldom happened but every time they acted as if they were about to bolt. 

Askel went to the set of drawers beside the mantle, opened the second one down, and produced a dagger within its scabbard. Slipping it into the back of his belt, he went to the door. He unlocked it with his right and kept his left hand behind his back. The door swung open. 

“Oh, good evening. What a surprise. Do come in.”

Sigtrygg was surprised to see M’krinna, her father Krraesh, and her mother Karro. Krraesh was tall but a bit slim. He kept his hair in many braids and he had a scar on his snout. Karro wore an impressive mane that was gold at the top but brown at the bottom. She was of the same height of her husband and was a bit dainty. She wore a plain green skirt with a white blouse, while Krraesh wore a brown vest over a red shirt and dark blue working trousers. M’Krinna was wearing her brown skirt and blue blouse from earlier in the day. Her parents both held something in their arms. 

Sigtrygg’s parents were close with them. As weavers, they did not require their services often, they became acquainted through Sigtrygg and M’Krinna’s friendship. Both families always made time for each other and always shared pleasant words.

“How wonderful to see you,” Kaja said, walking over to them. “Is there anything we can do for you this eve?”

“Ah, well, no. Khajiit came to thank Sigtrygg for what he did for the cub this day.”

Both Askel and Kaja looked back at their son in surprise. Sigtrygg quickly turned back to the basin and scrubbed a dish vigorously. After a few moments, they looked back in confusion. Krraesh and Karro exchanged a glance before smiling together. “The boy is too humble. M’krinna, tell the Ve-clan what was done for you.”

She tended to be shy around Sigtrygg’s parents. They were both taller and bigger than her parents. In fact, their Nordic stature made them a tad taller and bigger than almost everybody in Leyawiin. It made them stand out and possess an imposing quality. But Kaja offset this by bending over, resting her hands on her knees, and smiling. Even Askel crouched down so he was eye-level with her, rather than towering over her. 

Stepping out, the young Khajiit gripped her skirt tightly. 

“This...this one was being bullied by Imperial boys, but Sigtrygg stopped them.”

Askel and Kaja both looked at one another, then back at him. Again, their son had paused from his duties. Upon meeting their gazes once again, he began polishing one of the pewter cups with great interest. He even thought about whistling a tune but figured that would just make him more conspicuous than he already was. 

“Did he now?” Kaja asked slowly. M’Krinna nodded quickly.

“Mhm! And one of the boys hit him, and him again, but Sigtrygg was very brave. A knight stopped the older boy, though.”

“When told, Khajiit knew we had to repay good friends and thank him in person.”

“I see. Sig, come here please.”

Putting the cup down on the shelf, Sigtrygg slowly walked over with his head down. He felt very shy at that moment and his cheeks felt very hot. Clasping his hands in front of him, he slowly looked up at the two Khajiit. They smiled very warmly at him. Krraesh knelt down and opened the bundle he was carrying. He displayed light gray sash with dark trimming. At the bottom was a black hawk with many feathers, open talons, and a curved beak. From the beak protruded a long tongue and its single eye was drawn into a steadfast glare. It was a powerful looking creature and Sigtrygg’s eyes widened as he observed it.

“This one made a study of what birds fly over Skyrim. The hawk was mentioned many times in the book. I wished to make it longer, in the way a knight may wear one, but uh...this one could not spare much thread.” He bowed his head briefly. “This one hopes you will wear it often and with pride.”

Sigtrygg’s heart swelled with joy. As out of place he felt between the two families, he had never been happier in all his life. Smiling very wide, he looked up at the friendly Khajiit. He could only imagine just how his face looked at that moment because Krraesh laughed. “Take, take, please!”

Sigtrygg took it from his hands very delicately. At once, he wanted to thrown it on but a tap on the back of his head from his mother reminded him to be courteous. 

“Thank you, sir, for such a kind gift. I promise to always be a friend to M’krinna and to wear this with honor.” With that, he slid it over himself. Both Kaja and Krraesh helped him put it on. When they were finished, the latter took a step back and nodded.

“Yes, yes, the fit is good!”

“The Nord cub looks like a real knight!” Karro chimed. “And for the Ve-clan, this one has a gift also.”

She unwrapped and rolled out a tapestry that was about the length and width of the table. The outer border was a deep blue, while the next layer was sand colored, the third layer was red, and the center square was emerald green. In the very center was the outline of the land of Skyrim. Karro hid behind it somewhat. “This one wished to add more but materials are few.”

Kaja gasped as she ran her hand over it. 

“This is simply wonderful,” she murmured.

“Like this one, you are far from home, and it does the soul good to see a reminder,” Karro said, lowering it to show her face. 

“You did not have to do us such a kindness,” Askel said politely, “we cannot repay you.”

“Khajiit need no repayment. The boy did this family a service.”

“Thank you so much,” Kaja said, her voice thick with emotion. She awkwardly rolled it up and put it on the closest table chair. When she came back to the door, she hugged both Karro and Krraesh. More profuse thanks were shared between the two families before the three Khajiit stepped back outside. Well wishes for the evening were shared. Before they left though, M’krinna hugged Sigtrygg again and Krraesh put a paw on his shoulder. 

“Do you know what small M’krinna said to this one when she returned home?” At this, M’Krinna hid behind her mother. “Cub said that you were a hero. When this one thinks of heroes, it is in grand tales in which one fought for all and stood against many. You remind Khajiit that sometimes, the bravest hero stands just for the one.”

***

That night, Sigtrygg went to bed wearing a smile. He would have worn the sash too but his parents did not want him to ruin it by rolling around in it all night. Laying in his bed, he gazed up at the wall where it hung on two hoos where he often kept his shirts. In the flickering candlelight, the gray seemed glow and the trimming bore the color of night. At the end, the hawk’s gaze was inspiring to Sigtrygg, even if it was just a tiny, empty gray spot. 

Sighing, he decided it was his most valued possession. He had few for it to compete with. In his room, which he was once guessed was a small pantry or storage room, the walls were bare too. All he had in there besides the bed was the nightstand and a set of drawers beside it. There was no window and one shelf contained the seven books he owned. Whether it was day or night, a candle was necessary if one wanted to close the door. 

Being poor was something he disliked. It was not because he wished to have a bulging coin purse so he could spend lavishly on useless things. He wanted enough so that he go to other places and do things. Perhaps, if he made enough money, he could outfit himself with a sword and some armor when he became an adult. Then, he could go on real adventures rather than playing pretend with his friends. Helping people like the knight he met seemed glamorous. Not, it was not a matter of glory. That was his Nord blood speaking again. It seemed right, a righteous thing to do. Serving people like he did M’krinna, that was a life anybody could be proud of. 

The door creaked open. Kaja stepped in, wearing her pale nightgown and holding a candle plate in her hand. She padded in and sat down on the edge of Sigtrygg’s bed. For a time, she said nothing and merely smiled at him. Eventually, she sighed. There were deep bags under her light hazel eyes, mirroring Sigtrygg’s own. 

“I wanted to tell you your father is proud of you even if he may not voice it. He has...qualms about conflict these days. I suppose that is to be expected.”

She reached down and ran her fingers across Sigtrygg’s auburn locks. “Fighting is a scary thing. Nords are born warriors. It is rare for one to go throughout their life without drawing a blade or baring their fist against another at least once. These are not mere traditions, this is our blood, instructions carved into our bones by Talos himself. Remember the Commands?” 

Kaja raised her finger and closed her eyes. “Be strong for war. Be bold against enemies and evil, and defend the people of Tamriel.”

“Ma, the priests say we must not speak of Talos.”

“The priests are not here,” she whispered. “Even if they forget Talos his words ring true. But Mara was also at work this day, for she spurs the heart towards loving acts. In a way, these two Divines are closer than one may think. You carry their spirit, Sig.”

Sigtrygg’s smile had long faded. He shifted uncomfortably and shook his head.

“I helped M’krinna but I didn’t fight back. I just took their blows.”

“It does not matter if a Nord wins or loses. What matters is if he  _ fought _ . If he was able to do that, victory or defeat are null, and he can rest well that night knowing he had done some good in this world.”

It was not long before Sigtrygg fell asleep, the words echoing within his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The design of the sash is based off the awesome aesthetics from the Skyrim Knight mod created by Nexus user hideouscircus and ported to the SSE by DarkAltair93. I used the mod for both the original and SSE versions, loved it, must have for my mystic knight build.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m starting to wish my papa didn’t make you that!” 

Sigtrygg turned around from the edge of the pond. M’Krinna was covering her mouth as she giggled. When she finished, she scooped up a handful of dirt in her paw and scattered into the water. The spray disrupted the young Nord’s reflection in the war. Frowning, he turned around and smoothed out the gray sash across his shirt. Raising his chin, he began marching away. His friend walked alongside, her bare bottom paws padding at the cobblestone. She snickered some more. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Knights don’t have feelings! Nothing bothers a knight!” Sigtrygg declared. M’Krinna sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“You’re not a knight.”

“But I  _ will  _ be!”

“Poor people can’t become knights.”

But Sigtrygg was undeterred. Wearing a wide, satisfied smile, he marched through the streets with his hands curled into fists. If he was going to become a knight one day he was going to have to start acting like one. He was on the lookout for any more children who were in trouble or older kids who were planning to harass them. In the middle of a working day, most of the younger children were not on the streets. Those who lived in shadier parts of Leyawiin remained at home while others worked in their parents’ businesses and shops. Sigtrygg himself was on his afternoon break which was hit or miss when it came to socializing. Sometimes, kids would swarm the parks or streets, having finished their midday meals. On other occasions, meals ran long or family businesses were busy, so nobody was able to have a break. 

Those who did venture on the streets that day were embroiled in their own games of tag or make belief. Nobody seemed to notice Sigtrygg or his brand new sash. A week after having received it and not a single person he knew commented on it. Although he was disappointed, he wasn’t going to show it or tell M’Krinna. She teased him enough already, although she was never mean about it. 

She skipped alongside him. Naturally agile, she was able to hop and land with both feet on one slim cobblestone. It was a game she liked to play with herself. Sigtrygg liked to watch her when she did; her tail would sweep back and forth excitedly and she would grin in a very silly way. A few times he tried it himself but he wasn’t that good on account of his bigger feet and lack of gracefulness. 

“We should play our own game.”

“Can I guess what you want to play?” M’Krinna asked. She pranced in front of him, walking backwards with her hands folded behind her back. “You want to play a game where you’re a knight who has to slay a dragon to save a beautiful maiden!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She was exactly right and he was too embarrassed to admit it. M’Krinna shrugged and kept walking backwards. 

“We don’t have anyone to be the dragon, anyways.”

As the pair rounded a corner which led the straightaway between the placa and the docks, they were forced to stop. A larger company of Leyawiin guards, men-at-arms, mercenaries, and a few knights were moving in a column towards the docks. While not in formation and marching in step, their heavy boots and armor made a particular machine-like noise. All the guards carried a sword, shield, a bow, and a quiver of arrows. Knights each carried a longsword or greatsword, along with a spear each. Some wore golden gilded chainmail that glowed in the sunlight. Others were clad in heavy, cumbersome looking plate mail. White surcoats with the Leyawiin coat of arms on it denoted their membership of the local lodge, the Knights of the White Stallion. But the mercenaries looked roguish and not two were dressed alike. Some wore chainmail or scale armor, while others were clad in furs and leathers. Unlike the knights and guards, who were mostly Imperials, the mercenaries hailed from every country. Most prevalent in their midst were Khajiit and Argonians. Many wielded shortswords, multiple daggers, maces, simple clubs, bows, arrows, sabers, spears, halberds, and axes. 

It was easy to divide the experienced from the inexperienced. Veteran mercenaries were better equipped both in arms and armor, bore more scars, were older, and looked weathered. Newcomers were always younger, their equipment was cheap, and they looked eager and fresh. 

Sigtrygg and M’Krinna watched, waited until they passed, and then fell in behind them. The hundred or so troops gathered on the docks but did not tread onto the piers. All the workers stood on the periphery, staying out of the way and watching with varying degrees of interest. Somebody began speaking but the two children were unable to see who it was. 

Looking around, they tried to find a vantage point. On the left side of the assembly were a few stacks of wooden shipping crates. Together, they found the lowest one, clambered up, and began ascending the pile as if they were stairs. At the top, Sigtrygg sat down with his legs over the edge. The perch was higher than two average men stacked on top of the other. M’Krinna stood and rested her arms on top of the Nord’s head. Both were surprised to see the Count of Leyawiin, Massimo Caro II, standing in front of the host. He was clad in burgundy robes with golden trimming. Around his neck was a silver chain with a round pendant. Embedded in the center of the pendant was refined, polished ruby. 

He was an impressive Imperial despite his short stature. A mane of black hair cascaded down to his shoulders and he had a handsome face with an elegant nose, thin lips, and strong cheeks. In his day, he was a warrior of an impressive build, a member of the Whtie Stallions, and a patron of Zenithar. Now, he was middle-aged, somewhat pudgy in his stomach, but still strong in his chest. A sword hung from the belt he wore. 

“...the Count of Bravil has requested the aid of stalwart Leyawiin warriors. We are pledged to respond to his call. I know some may have reservations about fighting in another land other than our own but lest we forget, the overflow of chaos from gang warfare threatens Leyawiin also. If we can stand our ground in Bravil then we can prevent the violence from entering our sacred city.”

He scrutinized the war host for a long, impressive moment. “Some of you are here by choice. Others, by duty. And there are those among you who are in it for nothing but the coin. Whatever your reason for embarking on this endeavor, I care not, so long as all do their duty.”

With a wave of his hand, the gangplank was lowered. The ship was not one of the fat merchant vessels or one of the swift coastal traders. Instead, it was one of the lower, longer, warships. On the bow there were two archery towers and on the stern was a capulet on a rotating cylinder. In the center was the raised bridge and accompanying superstructure, looking more like a cabin than a part of a ship. The host of soldiers boarded the vessel, their booted feet thudding on the wooden gangplank. Some went below, disappearing into the bowels of the ship. Others simply threw their packs down on the deck and prepared for the voyage upriver. Finally, the dock workers began laboring across the planks and deposited stores of cargo inside the ship. 

Eventually, amid rattling chains and barking commands, the anchors were weighed, the ship shoved off, and began trundling upriver. All the soldiers either looked northward or busied themselves with some other detail. But one of the knights approached the railing. Squinting to make out his face, Sigtrygg’s eyes widened as he realized it was the knight from the previous week. The man’s smile was visible even from this distance. At first, he leaned on the gunwale while the ship slowly pushed away from the dock. Once the current and the wind caught it, he stood up straight and lifted his hand. Sigtrygg did the same, waving with his right. 

Sigtrygg and M’Krinna watched until it became a dot in the distance and eventually winked away. By that time, the dock workers returned to their shore work and the Count returned to Castle Leyawiin with his retinue. But the pair remained, gazing northwards up the river. Sunlight glittered on the blue water and the current was very strong. Its babbling and rippling was very loud and pleasant to the ears. 

M’Krinna bent over Sigtrygg and peered into his eyes. Sigtrygg didn’t notice her at first. 

“Tell me about the Great Chapel of Mara again,” she asked. Coming around on his left, she adjusted her plain brown skirt and sat down so her legs dangled over the side like his. Sitting shoulder to shoulder and swinging their feet, they gazed south out to Niben Bay. 

“It was the most beautiful place ever,” Sigtrygg said, “all the columns were big and tall, the pews were all oak and polished. When it was sunny, the window panes gave off thousands and thousands of colors. And it was quiet, very quiet, not like here.”

“Can you take me to Bravil one day?” M’Krinna asked. 

“Just Bravil?” Sigtrygg asked, smiling. M’Krinna smiled back shyly and looked down at her feet. For a time, they stayed that way, not looking at each other but at the forest on the other side of the river or the water itself. Eventually, Sigtrygg sighed and decided to climb down. He was gone from the shop long enough and he knew his parents needed his help. M’Krinna joined him and together they walked slowly down the road. This time, the young Nord didn’t march like a knight or hold his head up. “Do you really think poor people can’t become knights?”

“This one’s papa says knights aren’t raised, they’re born.”

Sigtrygg released a long breath, deflating further. His head hung and his shoulders sagged. Looking down at his feet, he didn’t notice his friend’s concerned gaze. But he nearly fell over when she giggled and gave him a big hug. It was awkward to walk with her arms around him but they struggled on like that for a little while. He looked down at M’Krinna whose nose was almost against his own. She was smiling happily. “You don’t have to be a knight to go to Bravil!”

“Right now you do,” Sigtrygg muttered. Adults passed by, some of them gazing at them curiously. At first, the Nord was embarrassed to have so many eyes on him. But M’Krinna didn’t seem to mind so he tried his best not to either. Eventually, she let go partially but kept one arm around his. 

“Well, you’re a knight, aren’t you?” she asked, tugging on the sash. Sigtrygg, still dejected, shrugged. 

“Knights need a sword, and a horse, and armor, and a maiden, and a—”

“Well, what am I!?” she whined. 

“Poor girls can’t be maidens!” Sigtrygg teased. M’Krinna gasped, let go, then playfully hit him on the back. When she tried to land another blow, Sigtrygg dodged it and began running back to his parents’ shop. His friend was right behind him, pretending to roar and hiss like a mountain line. Laughing, the young Nord did his best to escape, weaving between adults and bounding around corners. As fast as he was for his size, M’Krinna was much faster. 

Eventually, she pounced on his back and the impact made him land on his stomach. Thankfully, it was on the plaza cobblestone which remained clean on account of the Count’s efforts to increase sanitation throughout the city. Lying on his stomach, Sigtrygg laughed as M’Krinna pretended to bite his neck. She hadn’t bared her teeth but made loud chomping sounds near his neck. Her pretend snarls were more like snuffles and that made him laugh so hard he began running out of breath. 

Biding his time, he bucked up and M’Krinna fell off. Sigtrygg was tall and strong for his age, so he was able to pick her up easily. She squealed as he spun around, holding her at the waist. Then, he threw her over his shoulder and she pounded her fists on his back. 

“You’re a big brute!” she squealed happily. Sigtrygg spun around, trying to make her dizzy. On the third rotation, something heavy and metal hit his chest. Then, M’Krinna’s weight was plucked off his shoulder. An armored hand clutched the collar of his roughspun tunic, picked him up off his feet, and pressed him against the wall. A Leyawiin city guard with dark bags under his eyes and stubble on his cheeks. The middle-aged Imperial seemed like he just got out of bed. 

“And what do you think you’re doing harassing the little cat?” he growled. 

“He’s not hurting me, we’re playing!” M’Krinna insisted, tugging on the guard’s surcoat. But the guard continued to glare at Sigtrygg.

“I know what I saw,” he said. “You best cough something up or else I’ll take you to the captain.”

“Let go of my friend!” M’Krinna shouted and began beating on the guard’s leg. None of the hits seemed to have an impact. Sigtrygg blinked, unsure of what to say or do. The guard continued to gaze into his eyes, a sinister smile spreading across his face. Nothing came to mind and he began to breathe rapidly, panicked. Eventually, M’Krinna stopped hitting the guard, growled, bared her teeth, grabbed his thigh and went to bite him. 

“I’ve got silver!” Sigtrygg said. The guard dropped him and M’Krinna stopped halfway, kneeling beside the young Nord.

“Hand it over, then, and you’ve got my silence.”

Doing his best not to look daunted, Sigtrygg stood up with M’Krinna and dug into his pocket. He held up the silver Septim and the guard snatched it out of his hand. After inspecting for a moment, he winked at him. “There’s a good, lad. Don’t make no trouble anymore.”

Stuffing it into a satchel, the guard marched off down the road. Sigtrygg sighed and sat down on the curb. But M’Krinna’s paws were curled into tiny fists and she shook even as she stood in the road. Eventually, she released a little hiss and stamped her foot. 

“I should have bitten him!” 

“You would’ve gotten in trouble,” Sigtrygg said, propping his elbow on his knee and holding his chin. 

“I know but still!” M’Krinna stamped her other foot, picked up a rock, and tossed it as far as she could down the road. Huffing and puffing, she sat down beside Sigtrygg. “I  _ hate  _ this place! People always pick on us! Kids and adults. If we were wealthy we wouldn’t have to put up with it.”

“Who would want to be wealthy in Leyawiin, Krinny?” Sigtrygg asked with a sigh. “It’s the same old place with its smells and sewage and bad people. If we lived somewhere else,  _ then  _ we wouldn’t have to put up with any of it.”

“We should stowaway on a boat,” M’Krinna said, holding her cheeks and leaning forward on her knees. 

“I would not... _ hmmm _ ...recommend that.”

Has-Many-Horns approached, his wooden tool box in his right hand. His green-scales shimmered in the warm sunlight. He was smiling down at them, flashing his many, thin teeth. “This one has traveled by ship both passenger and... _ hmm _ ...cargo, let us say. Both are undesirable, the first less so.”

He set his toolbox down and knelt in front of the two children. His expression was sympathetic. “Come with me, Ve hatchling. Your parents have need of you.”


	4. Chapter 4

The two children held hands as they followed Has-Many-Horns to the Ve shop. Both did their best not to look upset but it was a difficult mask to wear. Sigtrygg glanced over at M’Krinna. She still looked positively angry, her bright eyes blinking and narrowing. Her nostrils flared and she made little growls and huffs every so often. Occasionally, her lips would quiver and expose her fangs. Even now, she wanted to sink her teeth into the bullying guardsman’s leg. 

Sigtrygg was glad she didn’t. It was hard enough growing up in Leyawiin between poverty, abrasive older children, and a detached city guard. Biting a guard, let alone an Imperial, would have seen M’Krinna either tossed in the ‘small cells,’ the meaner Imperials boasted about or her parents would have to pay the fine. None of the children and many of the adults did not know if there were such cells for child criminals. But no one was willing to find out, least of all Sigtrygg. 

Eventually, they weaved through the streets and stepped up to the open double-doors to the smithy. Inside, both Askel and Kaja were working hard. There was something more energetic and bouncy about their movements. Each of them flowed throughout the workshop. Kaja’s hammer blows on metal plating were intense but precise. Askel’s hand was a blur as he quickly etched details and markings into metalled rings, his smaller hammer and chisel singing together. Both children and Has-Many-Horns were very surprised to see them working so fiercely. It was not until a few minutes passed did they finally notice them. 

Kaja wiped her hands on her apron and approached. Her face was covered with soot and her smile seemed more white than ever before. 

“Come to place an order?” she asked, hands on her hips. Has-Many-Horns cocked his head to the side and smiled kindly.

“Not today,  _ hmmm _ . But I have brought the hatchlings for they have had a bad time of it this day.” 

Sigtrygg and M’Krinna began to walk in but Kaja stopped them. Dropping to her knee, she held up her hands in front of the latter. 

“Oh darling, you’ll get your dress all dirty!”

“It’s already pretty grubby,” M’Krinna said, picking up her skirt with her left hand. She did a slow spin, looking down as she did. Having trekked through some muddy puddles on the way over to the shop there were a number of wet, brown stains on the ends of the skirt. And having been rooting around in the docks earlier, a naturally filthy place, her paws had become very dirty. Many times, she wiped them on her dress and left many long, faded smears on it. 

Kaja wasn’t having it through. Straightening up, she placed her hands back on her hips and offered a playful smile. 

“We don’t want it to get anymore  _ grubby _ , do we? What would your parents say?”

M’Krinna giggled and bounced on her feet for a moment.

“They’d say, ‘put on another dress!’ They would yell it!”

Her bubbly attitude was enough to make even Askel, sweating by the fires, laugh. Kaja smiled fondly at the Khajiit cub. The two families were very close, often sharing meals when there was enough money to pool between them. Sometimes, Sigtrygg wondered if his mother and father ever wanted a daughter. Both of them were very fond of M’Krinna and treated her like one of the family. Kaja was especially warm and outgoing towards her, always ready with little Nordic sayings and lessons. Askel was more reserved but everyone knew he liked to slip her a red apple from the grocer every so often as the little Khajiit was very fond of them. 

Sigtrygg was fond of her too, more so now than ever. She was like a younger sister even if they looked like they came from two different worlds. Sometimes, he wished he was in the company of his kinsmen or had brothers and sisters of his own. But M’Krinna was much better than either. If he ever gained the opportunity to visit his homeland, then he would ask her to come with him. The adventures he planned to go on would be so much better with the company of such a good friend. 

“Well, it is good you’re back,” Kaja said. “I have some exciting news for you, Sig!” She handed him a long scroll of fine parchment. He held it by one side while M’Krinna took it by the other. Both leaned in so close their cheeks were pressed together. As they read, their eyes began to widen. 

_ To all smiths and armorers of County Leyawiin! The honorable Count Massimo Caro II calls upon you to lend your hammers to the cause. The alliance between Leyawiin and Bravil calls upon stalwart warriors to do their part in the suppression of banditry and traffickers. But these warriors cannot do so without plate and mail. Count Massimo hereby tenders an armoring contract for the quick supply of quality half-plate and mail armor. The smith who forges and presents the strongest and most reliable suit shall be awarded the contract. Upon awarding of the contract, the winner shall be paid 10,000 Septims, 1/3 of the total payment. Upon completion of the contract, the smith shall be rewarded with the remaining 2/3 of the total payment: 20,000 Septims. As well, Count Massimo will award the smith with a badge of favor, giving precedence to the business in future contracts requiring multiple smiths. If the service has been deemed erstwhile and beyond the efficiency expected and required, Count Massimo may tender a bonus up to 5,000 Septims.  _

_ Participation in the contract contest is mandatory. Contests have one week to forge and transport their armor to Castle Leyawiin. If the smith and their example are not present by Morndas, 8 _ _ th _ _ day of Mid Year, 4E 187, they will be disqualified. Reviews of the armor will be on Tirdas, 9 _ _ th _ _ day of Mid Year, 4E 187.  _

_ Note: the Count of Leyawiin and his court are  _ _ not _ _ responsible for any traveling or lodging expenses on the part of the smith. Only in extreme cases which are reviewed by the Count’s steward will the smith be reimbursed.  _

It was like being struck by lightning! Even at his young age, he knew about supply contracts. Local guilds and mercenary outfits to private citizens and contest holders, the most lucrative way for a smith to fill up the coffers was by contracts. Many of the most prosperous and noteworthy smiths across Cyrodiil made their fortunes and names through big contracts. Although there were many wealthy individuals and organizations spread out through the country, it was the city aristocracies that offered the very best. 

Immediately, he understood why his parents were working so hard and he was seized with energy. Kaja realized this and squinted with determination. “I’ll need your help, Sig. Da will try to finish his orders quickly so he can lend us aid as well. M’Krinna darling, would you like to help too?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” M’Krinna squealed, bouncing on her feet. 

“Could you man the counter for us? I know you’ve got a good head for figures and numbers.”  
The Khajiit cub clapped her hands together, raced to the stool by the counter, and hopped onto it. Already, he long tail was sweeping back and forth in a quick, excited fashion. Sigtrygg immediately donned an apron and ran to assist his mother. While she began making the plate to the dimensions of an old wooden practice dummy she dragged out of the shop’s storage, the young Nord took more measurements. Once he was finished, jotting the notes down on a slip of parchment, he began to fetch iron. These ingots were then heated and transformed into soft metal sheets. 

As he worked, Askel took time for a break and spoke to Has-Many-Horns. Between the roar of the forge fire, bubbling furnaces, and Kaja’s hammering, Sigtrygg couldn’t make out much of the conversation. But whenever he darted away to fetch more materials or tools, he caught some hushed words between the two men. 

“It was the same one, Dorianno...”

“...that lout...”

“...the Count only ever sends the good ones...”

“...the corrupt, the lazy, the brutes don’t do well in combat...”

“Will you take it up...?”

“...we won’t be heard.”

Has-Many-Horns maintained a serious demeanor while Askel looked more fatigued. The Nord paced a little bit, rubbing his brow in frustration. Eventually, the pair punctuated the conversation and the Argonian left. For a time, Askel remained by the doors and looked out onto the street. Nobody was passing by but he still stared. For a few moments, Sigtrygg thought there was something happening outside although he was too busy to look for himself. 

Eventually, his father turned around and marched straight over to him. His eyes seemed to be blazing and his hands were clenched into fists. For a moment, Sigtrygg thought he was going to be subjected to another lecture. Crouching down, Askel held him by the shoulders and looked him right in the eyes. “Once, we were respected. One day, we shall be again, whether or not we ever return home.”

He said nothing more and resumed his work. Sigtrygg didn’t quite understand but an urging look from his mother made him press on. When he finished with the metal sheets, he took them over to one of the work benches. On it were several dowels which he wrapped the iron sheets around. He tightened them as hard as he could and fastened them to the dowel. It was time consuming and it used a lot of material. Yet the iron was fastening tightly and was becoming very hard. When he ran out of iron sheets, he fetched more ingots, heated them, spread them out, and hammered them into sheets. From the supply caches he began to fetch more dowels. Soon, the closets and boxes were empty of them.

“Ma, how many rings will there be for the mail?” he asked over the roar of the forge fire. Sparks flew up as he stoked the embers with a long, black iron rod. Kaja was stooped over her anvil, shaping steel. Each hammer blow was so fierce her whole body reverberated with the impact. Sweat ran down her mother’s face, cutting trails through the black soot which coated her cheeks. 

When she struck the final blow she took a long drink from a flask of water she placed on a nearby bench. After a long sigh, she looked at Sigtrygg. “Think, Sig. Look at the dimensions of the dummy. Look at your measurements once more.”

Sigtrygg dug into his apron pocket and yanked out the sheet of parchment he scribbled on. The dummy was the size of an average Imperial; taller than a normal Breton but far shorter than a short Nord male. Even in the chest and abdomen, broad in the back, and strong arms for swinging, thrust, and hacking with a blade. This wooden figure was a soldier who needed the mail to fall far but not so much to get caught up in his legs. It was not a skirt or a flowing dress, after all! Circling it, taking measurements again, taking little notes, Sigtrygg added up the numbers. 

“You would want thirty-thousand rings, ma.”

“Correct,” she said. “If we... _ when  _ we get the contract, we shall have to sculpt the mail and plate for the guardsmen individually. But, this is but a test and thus we can go by standards. Hop to it, lad!”

Sigtrygg began checking every nook and shelf in the shop for more materials. It was not a question of iron but of dowels. He wanted to prepare the iron tubes so he cut rings from then in one shot. It was how he preferred to work; completing one task fully before proceeding to the next. One who indulged in finishing a task part way to begin the next would find themselves eventually falling behind. Getting things done in a methodical, deliberate fashion was the best way to make progress. 

As he crawled all around, getting old dowels that had fallen out of sight or kicked out of the way. He procured as many as he could, stopping only to stoke the flames and shape more iron ingots into sheets. Soon enough, the workbench was covered with upright dowels wrapped in metal. While he raced back and forth between the forge and the bench, M’Krinna would dart by him to collect orders off the shelf. She would scamper by, holding up her skirt with a paw while her extended nails  _ clicked, clicked, clicked  _ on the floor. With an agile jump, she would land upright on the counter below the shelves. Swiping whatever bag, parcel, or tool on hold for a patron, she would hop back down and scamper back to the counter, her nails  _ click, click, clicking _ as she ran. 

“Thank you for your business!” she would chime happily before dropping the Septims into the lock box. 

The forge became very hot, made all the worse by the muggy summer heat. Before long, Sigtrygg stripped down only to his shoes, trousers, and leather apron. More than once, M’Krinna gathered up all the skins and flasks spread out through the shop and ran to the nearest well to draw water. Scurrying back, she handed each member of the Ve family their drink who gratefully accepted. Whenever she came up to Sigtrygg she also flashed a toothy smile and encouraged him. ‘You’re doing so well!’ ‘Keep it up, Sig!’ ‘Way to go!’

Sigtrygg did his best despite his flagging, fleeting strength over the course of the day. But he was continually inspired, or more accurately  _ awed  _ by his parents. Never before had he seen either one work so fast, so hard, and so deftly. Askel was a blur as he progressed through his orders, forging copper rings with such rapidity that he seemed like some kind of machine rather than a Nord. And Kaja was working with a particular zeal and strength Sigtrygg did not think she had. When her hammer struck metal, the dramatic and ear-piercing  _ bang _ made it seem as though she broke it into pieces. As concentrated as his mother was, he could see an excited glow in her eyes. She was smiling the entire time and he understood. Her mother and father were smiths too, noteworthy ones too by her account. They forged weapons and armor for many comers all over Skyrim. When she joined the Legion she made more of both than ever before. Yet ever since she came to Leyawiin orders for either were scarce. Armor was especially devoid from their orders; occasionally a hunt would ask for new iron bracers or one of the guards needed a new helmet after a particularly heavy outlaw raid. There were more orders placed for daggers, axes, and other very practical weapons and tools. 

Now, after so many years, she was able to practice a craft she loved so much. Kaja regaled Sigtrygg with stories about incredible suits of armor she forged for years. Often, these were accompanied with colorful characters and interesting stories associated with them. Hardin of Morthal was one of his favorite stories. He was a huge man even for a Nord and required a massive suit of full-plate armor. At the time, she was a poor smith and couldn’t afford all the metals required to make his desired suit; steel bonded with Dwemer metal. To mitigate some of the cost, he volunteered to help her retrieve enough of the metals from one of the famous underground cities. Together, they ventured in and were beset by traps and vile machines. By the time they escaped with armfuls of dwarven metal objects their skin was red and scalded. But it made forging all the more rewarding and feel much easier than fending off menacing contraptions. 

All knew of the Dwemer, and as much as he liked the story, he doubted that most of what his mother described did not happen. Still, it was a good little story. Perhaps she was thinking of forging that enormous full-plate suit as she bashed and beat the steel plating before her. 

After expending all the dowels he could find, Sigtrygg set to work making the first rings. He removed the first iron tube from a dowel and retrieved a quill and measuring rod. Placing the rod beside the tube and dipping the quill in ink, he began leaving little dark notches down the entire length of the tube. When he finished, he took a hammer and chisel and began to carefully cut off pieces of the tube at each notch. When he removed a piece, the iron tubing was left in the shape of a ring. In this manner he was able to create dozens upon dozens of rings from the iron tube. 

This task occupied him until the sun went down. By that time, he was very tired from concentrating so hard. Having pulled up a stool, he was leaning against the bench as he tapped and cut with the chisel. Beside him was a very large pile of rings which did not so much shimmer but glow in the candlelight and forge fire glow. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Askel and Kaja both bent over their own work stations. M’Krinna was still on her stool at the counter but she slumped over it, her head resting on her folded arms. Eventually, Askel put down his tools and wiped his brow on the back of his arm. 

“Enough, dear, if we push ourselves we’ll not have any left for tomorrow,” he said to Kaja.

“Aye. I’ll put out the fires if you pack the tools.” 

Kaja went over to M’Krinna, smiled, and bent over. She whispered something in the Khajiit cub’s ear which twitched. Then, she pulled out the lock box and opened it. From one of the slots she took out fifteen copper pieces which she then dropped in M’Krinna’s hand. The cub seemed to shrink a little bit and bowed her head. She murmured something but Kaja shook her head, closing the cub’s paw around the coins. Shyly, the Khajiit put them into the pocket of her skirt. 

Giving the young girl a big hug, Kaja lifted her off the stool and placed her on the ground. “Sig, walk M’krinna home. We shall clean up.”

Sigtrygg doffed his apron and slid his shirt back on. Taking his friend by the hand, he walked out onto the plaza. Now that night was upon them, the air was somewhat clearer than it was during the height of the day. Although still humid, the air was easier to breathe and compared to the stifling heat of the forge it was practically cool in the night air. Already, the sweat clinging to his skin began to make him feel cold and made his shirt stick uncomfortably to his skin. 

M’Krinna fared worse even with such fine fur. Tugging at her collar, she let the cool air in. Soot settled on her face so that were a slight black hue to her golden coat. Her skirt was positively dirty from so many dusty smears and smudges as was her blouse. She huffed a little every so often but tried to refrain from doing so. Although she was proud of her heritage and loved her culture, Sigtrygg knew she was nervous about appearing  _ too  _ animalistic. He found this silly as he thought she was a perfect young lady. Intelligent, good-natured, and hard working, she possessed no faults in his eyes save for the subtle temper she held towards meaner folks. 

Hand in hand, they trundled sleepily down Leyawiin’s streets. That night, it was not so busy. Few people and even guards were out. He was grateful for that as he just wanted to enjoy this quiet time with his friend. Even now, his ears were still ringing from so many hammer blows. Nightbirds hooted and clouds of insects swarming at the ponds buzzed and chirped. Toads and frogs croaked and groaned. It was so quiet the sound of the Niben’s running water trickled pleasantly. Music drifted out from some of the inns and taverns. Bouts of laughter occasionally bounded through the sable streets. Candles flickered and trembled in the lamp posts lining the roads.

At times like these, Leyawiin didn’t seem like such a bad place to live in. Sigtrygg glanced at M’Krinna who walked sleepily. With glazed eyes, she glanced at him and smiled again. 

“I like working with you,” she said. Sigtrygg blushed, looked forward, and unsure of what to say, simply nodded. Finally, they arrived at her family’s house and he knocked on the door. Moments later, the latch was thrown and Krraesh appeared. He blinked and looked down at the children. 

“Good evening Mr. Krraesh,” Sigtrygg said pleasantly. “I’ve brought M’Krinna. I hope we did not worry you.”

“I helped in the forge today!”

Krraesh smiled. 

“This one knew she was with you, young man of Ve. If you are together, Khajiit never has to worry.”

Karro poked her head out the door as well. 

“Oh, you’re both very filthy. This one has half a mind to toss you both in the wash basin.”

It wouldn’t have been the first time Sigtrygg and M’Krinna bathed together. Although he was clean he had to take some extra time to wipe wet fur off himself. 

“Ah, but the Ve boy must certainly be away for his family might worry,” Krraesh offered. “Thank you. This one hopes our families can dine together soon.”

M’Krinna hugged Sigtrygg, said goodnight, and disappeared into the house. The door closed and the young Nord went straight back. He would have liked to sit for a time on the docks but it was patrolled at night and his parents would worry anyway. Hands jammed into his pockets, he trundled back home. But when he was halfway there, he heard someone walking behind him. A little unnerved, he slowed down and considered running. Yet, something compelled him to turn around. 

Standing before him was Has-Many-Horns. The Argonian knelt in front of him. 

“ _ Hmmm _ ,” he smiled. “Hold out your hand.” Sigtrygg liked Has-Many-Horns but to chance upon him at night like this was a little scary. All the same, he tentatively held out his hand. The Argonian dropped a single silver Septim into his palm. 

“Is this the one the knight gave me?” he murmured. “Thank you but how did you come by it?”

For a few moments, Has-Many-Horns stared at him blankly. Eventually, he sighed and stood up. 

“Once, life was very hard for myself and my kin. Sometimes, we needed to take in order to survive.”

“Do you mean...” Sigtrygg looked around quickly, then leaned forward, and spoke in a whisper, “...stealing?” Has-Many-Horns nodded. “But stealing is bad.”

“Is it theft if it means one will live? Or is it a crime when one steals from a criminal? Is it justice when crime repays a crime? I know not, Ve boy. That is up to you.”

Without waiting for a reply, Has-Many-Horns turned around and disappeared into the night. Sigtrygg stood there for a time, his hand still out and clutching the silver Septim, staring into darkness. Unable to come to an answer, he turned around as well and journeyed home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This story is being concurrently uploaded to both this site and Fanfiction.net. Set during the Fourth Era about a decade before the Skyrim Civil War/Dragon Crisis, it'll follow Sigtrygg and a growing band of characters as he attempts to rise in the world. This story is meant to be lore friendly but also draws on some of the lore friendly and immersive mods I've experienced playing online. I'll make little notes about them as they come up. Thanks for reading; if you end up liking this story, check out my other projects focused on Halo and Warhammer: 40,000. As for this one, I'll definitely update it biweekly but if I manage my work well, you can expect weekly updates. Thanks!


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